


29 Days

by naughtyspirit



Series: Smut, Fluff and Compliments [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Boys Kissing, Dare, Dream Sex, First Kiss, First Time, For the Win, Frustration, Hand Jobs, Kissing, Lists, M/M, Sexual Frustration, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-18
Updated: 2013-08-26
Packaged: 2017-12-23 22:24:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/931763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naughtyspirit/pseuds/naughtyspirit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I saw this lovely little prompt on tumblr and thought I'd have a go:</p><p>http://verstimmtlovestoship.tumblr.com/post/56074327260/johnlock-prompt</p><p>John bets Sherlock that he can’t compliment someone every day for a month. It ends up many of these compliments are aimed at John and it leads to them kissing/confessing or whatever.</p><p>~</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

John Watson cooks a mean roast dinner. He learned how to make one back when he was at university, although he wasn't able to pick the choicest cuts back then. His roast potatoes are crisp on the outside and fluffy on the inside and since a selective viewing of Nigella Lawson, he makes his own gravy too. It's a dinner fit for a king, or at the very least a consulting detective, but while their very occasional dinner guests have applauded John's efforts, Sherlock has never once said he liked it.

Instead, John has been treated to the occasional grunt and a half cleaned plate. John's heart sank the first time Sherlock left his roast potatoes untouched. He was more upset the week they didn't have a case and Sherlock briefly looked at the offerings on the table before declaring he was heading to Barts to dissect a barrister's lungs instead. John called him a tit and sulked for five minutes before inviting Mrs Hudson up to share. She knew how to offer a fitting compliment and John's bruised ego was soothed ever so briefly.

He's toughened up over the past year, and although he's always called Sherlock out on mis-behaviour toward others, he finds it harder to confront him when John is the recipient of the detective's barbed comments. This evening's effort on Sunday dinner is John's finest yet and he has set the table with napkins and the best crockery. He's pushed evidence of Sherlock's experiments away and set a pretty red candle in the middle of the table. He did consider dropping some of the confetti Molly left at Christmas but decided it was a step too far for a dinner that meant very little to Sherlock.

Sherlock strode in when John called and settled at the table, paper in one hand and fingers outstretched for the cup of tea that isn't there. He looked up as John placed the heavy plate in front of him and frowned.

"I thought we weren't doing wine this weekend."

"We never said that," said John and sat down opposite, his smile fixed and a little too intense. "I thought it would be nice with the lamb."

Sherlock offered a grunt and turned to the paper. For a moment John thought he was going to let his dinner go cold but the long fingers located a fork and John watched as dinner disappeared behind the paper. He ate his own, resigned to his own company at the table and wished he'd remembered to turn the telly on. He grabbed his book and turned to the page he'd left earlier and before the end of the chapter, Sherlock flung the fork back to the plate and flounced away from the table.

John paused and looked over at Sherlock's departing frame. "Thanks for dinner."

Sherlock turned slightly and frowned at John. "I didn't make dinner."

"No, I made it for you," said John. "You don't usually miss sarcasm."

"I didn't miss it," said Sherlock. "You seem awfully bothered by this. Is it your birthday?"

"No," said John and waved a hand. "Forget it. I just won't bother."

Sherlock shrugged and walked away and John stared at the book. The book was interesting and John liked it a lot and he was a damn good cook and Sherlock never appreciated him at all. He never said a single kind thing and it shouldn't bother John at all, he was better than this. He was the superior one emotionally. He knew it. The world knew it and John shouldn't be at all pissed off that his flatmate couldn't say thank you for something as simple as a dinner.

"The thing is," said John as Sherlock reached his bedroom door. "I cooked that for you."

"You often cook," said Sherlock. "You could have said if you didn't want to. We could have picked up take out."

"No, see," said John. " _We_ couldn't pick up take out because _I_ would be the one picking up take out because _you_ don't do that. And anyway, I cooked. I always cook for you and I make a fantastic Sunday dinner and you never say thank you!"

Sherlock stared at him, eyebrows arched as John's hands trembled slightly against the table and he picked up the book again. He glared at the pages, reading nothing at all and the hand that pushed it down to the table was a surprise. John looked up to see Sherlock without the smirk he expected.

"Thank you for dinner, John."

"You're welcome," said John and smiled. "See, it wasn't that hard."

"Well, if you will insist on fishing for compliments."

"Fishing for..." John's eyebrows were in serious danger of disappearing under his hair line and he swallowed hard before he looked back at Sherlock. "Expecting someone, _you_ , to say thank you isn't fishing for compliments. It's normal. It's just...it makes the world go round."

"The world goes round whether I like your dinner or not."

"I know," said John and waved Sherlock away. "Just leave it. I don't know what I was thinking."

"I've said thank you," said Sherlock. "Isn't that good enough?"

"Yes, yes, it's fine," huffed John. "Fine."

Sherlock frowned. "You only say that when it's not."

"Nope," said John and stood up. "It's fine."

"There you go again," said Sherlock. "Look, John. If you want me to make a comment every time you do something properly, I will. But, I will say I didn't know you were so desperate for approval. I shall bear it in mind."

John shook his head. "Don't bother."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "What do you want from me?"

John shook his head. "Nothing."

"Oh, _fine_!"

"Don't start," said John and glared at Sherlock. "I just don't think you can do it."

"Do what?" asked Sherlock. "Really, if you're going to persist in not making sense, I really don't see the point of this conversation."

"Offer someone a compliment," said John and Sherlock stared and then huffed, every inch the teenager he'd been.

"I say thank you," said Sherlock and pouted when John glared.

"Name one occasion."

"Less than five minutes ago."

"That doesn't count," said John. "You just don't. In fact, I bet you can't."

"Of course I can," said Sherlock. "I just did."

"No," said John. "I bet you a month's worth of dinners, that you can't give a compliment."

"I can-"

"Not take out, either. You make me dinner for a month if you can't give a compliment to someone. Anyone. Every day for a month."

"What?"

"And you have to mean it," said John. "No faking it. You have to say it and it has to be genuine and if you can't do that, I get dinner made for me, by you, for a month."

"This is ridiculous, John."

"Nope, this is a dare," said John and grinned. "I bet Sherlock Holmes can't give someone a compliment every day for a month."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "Which month?"

"It's February first," said John. "This one."

Sherlock huffed. "And what do I get?"

"Hmm?"

"When I win. What do I get?"

"I don't know," said John and huffed as he considered it. "You don't seem to want anything. And anyway, you can declare your own terms."

"Really," said Sherlock and smirked. "Do I have to declare them now?"

"No," said John after a second. "Because it won't matter. Because you can't do this."

"Bet your life?" asked Sherlock and chuckled at John's gaze. "Don't worry, I won't demand that."

"Fine. Are we on?"

Sherlock stuck his hand out and John shook it. He grinned as he looked up at his best friend and licked over his bottom lip. "We're on."

Sherlock nodded and raised a hand to tick off a point. "I've done today."

"Nope. Didn't count," said John and shook his head hard. "You just said it to placate me. You just don't like roasts."

"I don't mind them."

"Exactly," said John. "Not a compliment."

Sherlock pouted and sat down at the table, bottom lip plump and looking more childish than he had any right to. "This is unfair."

"No, it's what you agreed to," said John and picked up the book. "I fancy a curry tomorrow. You'll have to go shopping."

Sherlock huffed and for a full minute said nothing at all. He looked round the kitchen and then back to John again. The smile seemed to spill across his lips and John looked up at him, eyebrow raised and book still in hand. "Go on then."

"You have a very firm handshake," said Sherlock and nodded. "It's a confident and reassuring grip."

John giggled. "I don't think you can compliment me on my grip."

"Is that not allowed?"

"Just..." John tried hard to get a handle on the giggles and found it far too difficult. "Okay, so you think I have a good grip."

"A good handshake," said Sherlock and hesitated. "That counts."

"You meant it?"

"Of course," said Sherlock. "You have a very good handshake, John. You would be the person of choice if I ever required anyone to give me a handshake."

John grinned. "Oh, that's just too easy," he said and sat upright at the table. "Compliment accepted."

Sherlock beamed. "Can I go now?"

"Yes, yes, please do," said John. He peeked over the top of the book as Sherlock headed back to his bedroom and smiled. Sherlock might be capable of many things but he'd never be able to do this in a hundred years, much less a month. He could already see something in Sherlock's walk, an odd bit of determination and probably annoyance at having been caught like this, just a little twitch of his shoulders that clued John in. He was an avid watcher, the expert in all things Sherlock, though no-one would ever ask him more than, 'is he always like that?'.

The answer to that question is simple from John's perspective. Sherlock is always like Sherlock, which means that anything can be like him, especially if it dismissed tiny social niceties and dispensed with anything that made other people's lives easy. But John's life was a battlefield and he had banished just existing in exchange for living. He lived a hundred lives every day and it was rare that the little things bothered him. When they did, he had to find outlets and today's dare is enough.

It's better than usual, because this one included Sherlock and John lived, breathed and fought for Sherlock every second. He accepted that some time ago, along with the knowledge that everyone assumed it meant they were doing more than just living together. Although he'd stopped protesting otherwise, things hadn't changed and while John believed that being assumed to be a couple wasn't the worst thing, it had put a serious dent in his dating career. Still, in exchange there were interesting and exciting things and being able to watch Sherlock attempt to compliment someone, anyone, was a good start.

*****

The next day, Mrs Hudson made them scones and Sherlock told her that they're tasty. He offered John a quick look and John nodded in return. Day two and he'd managed a good compliment. John ticked it off on the back of a notepad and decided that Sherlock might make it through a week, provided people continued to offer him enough opportunity. Sherlock was very good at spotting places and people he could use, but John believed a week might be Sherlock's limit.

Still, the second of February had been a good day for Mrs Hudson and John thought her smile was beautiful.

The day after that, Sherlock told Lestrade that his car was an efficient and well chosen machine. Lestrade looked briefly confused, but Sherlock elaborated and explained that given the detective inspector's budget and living circumstances, the car was ideally suited and that Lestrade had made a clever and smart choice purchasing it. He smirked at John when Lestrade, encouraged, offered to take him for a drive. John grinned and couldn't meet Sherlock's gaze when Lestrade insisted on driving them both home, extolling the car's virtues as they pulled up to 221.

John giggled at Sherlock when he drew himself up outside their house and shook his head. "I didn't know he'd go on," he said. "Surely I can be spared tomorrow."

"Nope, one a day," said John. "But I'll admit that was pretty good. You made him happy."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "And is that all anyone wants to be? Happy?"

"Most people, yeah," said John and opened the door. "You did well."

"Oh shut up," huffed Sherlock and stomped off to his room.

Molly was the unlikely recipient of the next compliment. Sherlock said her notes were neat and that she had legible handwriting. John cleared his throat and Sherlock added that her penmanship was very good and that he relied on her ability to catalogue their results. Molly had stared at him before hurrying off to fetch crisps and coffee, but the compliment was felt and John thought it stayed just this side of promising her anything more. Sherlock pouted at having to elaborate, but Molly's day had been made and the case was solved shortly afterward.

It did of course mean that the following day Sherlock had no one but John to talk to. John busied himself cleaning for much of it. Sherlock bored meant a considerable amount of destruction and John thought anyone that petulant should have to deal with it themselves. He shopped, he chatted to mates over a beer and when he got home that night, he found Sherlock squatting on his chair, fingers clasped together and a frown untidying his forehead.

"Have you been there all day?"

"No," said Sherlock. "I had breakfast."

"Oh good," said John. "Glad you've had a full day."

"I've been thinking."

"That's news."

"Thinking about this," said Sherlock and tugged his dressing gown closer. "If I don't see anyone, it shouldn't count."

"But you choose not to see anyone," said John and waves his free hand. "And you can't compliment me on my handshake again."

Sherlock huffed. "I still mean it."

"Yeah, but you've done that one." John walked into the kitchen and quickly put the shopping away. "You could always go out."

"Staying in."

"Then find something about me you like," said John, entirely matter of fact as he pushed the bags in the cupboard. "Go on, you can find something."

Sherlock stared at him, his nose wrinkled and his hands clutching the arms of the chair. John walked back into the sitting room, half expecting Sherlock to say something about the new jacket he'd bought. But he was faced with a persistent, almond eyed gaze and not a single word. He rolled his eyes as he walked out of the room and showered quickly, prepared to dress again and head out for a drink with the boys. John wrapped his dressing gown round himself and casually toweled his hair as he walked back through the kitchen again.

He expected his flatmate to be in the same position and jumped when Sherlock stepped in front of him and reached for the towel.

"What are you doing?" asked John as Sherlock gripped the fabric. "My hair's wet. You want one, you go get your own instead of borrowing mine."

"Your hair," said Sherlock and John frowned.

"What about it?"

"I like it," said Sherlock.

"What?"

"I like the texture," said Sherlock and reached out, towel rubbing lightly over the drying strands as John stared at him. "And the colour. I like the silver in the blond. It's very attractive, John."

John blinked and lifted his fingers to touch where Sherlock's hand gripped towel and hair against his head. "Have you been drinking?"

"Not since Sunday," said Sherlock. "You said find something about you I liked. And I like your hair."

"Right," said John and half smiled before he took the towel back. "Well that's...that's quite a compliment."

"It counts?" asked Sherlock and John nodded and stepped back, tightening his dressing gown.

"Yes," said John. "That counts." He cleared his throat and gestured back to the kitchen. "I'll just put the kettle on then, shall I?"

Sherlock nodded and John turned on his heel, tea grabbed immediately as he tried to process the past couple of minutes. It definitely counted and was far from unpleasant, but it was unusual. Sherlock, touchy feely though he was round John, had never come close to playing geisha before. John rested his hands on the edge of the counter as he tried to think and could only come up with the dare as a reason why Sherlock had said those things. He'd pushed him and Sherlock was inventive, that was all.

Mystery solved, he poured out tea and walked back to the sitting room where Sherlock had finally relaxed into his seat and turned the telly on. John settled down and sipped from his cup, sneaking the occasional glance at his flatmate and noticed that Sherlock's brow had settled down again. All was clearly fine at 221b and John lifted his free hand to touch his hair. It had dried and settled into the scruffy state that always needed a brief brushing to stay in place. Certainly he didn't have remarkable hair, but John always knew when Sherlock lied and this time the man had been very truthful.

He drank deep and relaxed in his seat as Sherlock idly twirled a curl round his finger. "Well," said John, "you're going to have to go out tomorrow. You can't just pick me again."

"That wasn't in the rules," said Sherlock.

"Well, it took you all day to come up with my hair," said John and frowned again, aware of the texture and moreover how Sherlock had been almost kissing close when he touched. It was intimate, even Sherlock must have realised that and John licked his bottom lip. "You'll struggle tomorrow."

"I'll be fine," said Sherlock and settled in his seat with a smile. "I plan ahead."

"It has to be true," said John and Sherlock grinned over his tea.

"Not a problem."

Leaving John to wonder if the detective could make it longer than a week if he got really inventive.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John tries very hard to cope with Sherlock delivering compliments, all the while aware that most are directed at him.
> 
> Silly amounts of unresolved sexual tension!

It wasn't every day that John Watson walked down the stairs to have breakfast, only to be told that his calves were superior to most men's. He had paused, looked down below his dressing gown to assert that they were on show and as far as John was concerned, not especially impressive in any way. Since he'd joined Sherlock they had transported him across London and hadn't seized on him often, but John couldn't think of a single way in which they were worthy of Sherlock's attention.

His calves were, he admitted, in good shape and there was firm muscle beneath the blond hairs that decorated them. The blond was a little darker since he hadn't been flashed much skin outside the flat and John wondered if it meant he was due a little holiday. Certainly any time away from Sherlock tended to be more relaxing, if rarely interesting and John wasn't sure that he could afford it anyway. So instead he had to face up to Sherlock flouncing out of the room, having achieved his compliment for the day.

"Bit weird," called John after him and Sherlock poked his head back round the door.

"It's not," said Sherlock. "I do think you have good calves. Better than mine."

John raised an eyebrow. "You've compared them?"

Sherlock nodded. "I did a survey."

"Of what? Legs in general?"

"Obviously," said Sherlock. "I borrowed your laptop. And of course I took into account people we know."

"We don't-" John frowned. "People we know? Like Greg?"

"Yes."

"And Anderson? You've never seen Anderson's legs."

"He's left photos on Facebook," said Sherlock. "On Lestrade's page. Terrible. Yours are far better. The shape alone elevates you. But the appearance is quite-"

John lifted a hand. "Compliment accepted." He cleared his throat. "I think we'd better go out tomorrow."

"Why?"

"Because you need to say something about someone else," said John. "God knows what you'll come up with next."

"I thought perhaps-"

"Nope," said John and waved Sherlock off as the man disappeared behind his bedroom door. John didn't see him until the day after, when thankfully the postman was the unlikely recipient of Sherlock's positive outlook. Apparently having an excellent sense of direction on some days was a compliment in Sherlock's book. John knew he could have argued it, but he'd caught Sherlock looking at him closely and wasn't sure he could cope with Sherlock saying nice things to him two days on the run. He was used to being observed, to having his every action deduced, but Sherlock tended only to mention it when he was bored and at least the act of having to compliment someone had distracted him slightly.

Sunday gave John a day of rest for the most part, as Sherlock disappeared for several hours with barely a text to give John any clue what he was up to. John had sent one asking if Sherlock would be home for dinner, (not a roast) and on failing to receive a reply, went to the pub with Mike. He enjoyed someone else's efforts with a carvery and headed home after a few too many beers. He wasn't drunk, but he was a little tipsy and missed Sherlock's text on the way back.

Those particular circumstances were why, when John staggered upstairs, he was unprepared for Sherlock to have turned their living room into a storage area for bits and pieces of equipment John recognised as belonging to St Barts. He looked round slowly as Sherlock picked his way across the room with annoying ease.

"What _is_ all this?" asked John.

"They're redecorating," said Sherlock and John nodded slowly.

"Okay," said John. "I'll take that but why is everything here? They'll have storage. I'm sure they have storage."

"I might need things," said Sherlock. "I did ask you."

"No, you didn't."

"I texted you," said Sherlock and John pulled the phone from his pocket. He found it hard to focus on the text he'd missed earlier, but picked out the essential words. It was unfortunately clear that Sherlock had asked if he had any objections. He'd missed the deadline to tell Sherlock it wasn't a good idea and so John's living room was filled with the sorts of things that a man who'd drunk six pints should not have to contend with.

"Fine," said John. "When's it going back?"

"Tomorrow," said Sherlock and shrugged. "Or Tuesday."

"Two days," said John and frowned as he put a hand down on top of something he didn't want to look at. "And you'll keep the sticky stuff away."

"There isn't any sticky...oh," said Sherlock and walked over and firmly grasped John's wrist. He led him through to the bathroom and ran the water. John kept his eyes closed as Sherlock washed his hand off. It was a little hard to balance, but John concentrated on Sherlock getting his hand clean. He was thorough, as expected, but John could feel the lingering press of fingers along his palm and wrist and he wasn't sober enough to contend with those kinds of sensations.

He risked opening an eye to look, but all Sherlock's focus was on John's hand. He'd washed it clean of whatever it was that was sticky and had moved on to stroking his index finger along John's palm. John curled his fingers in and Sherlock looked up at him, smile at the edge of his lips.

"Reading my life line?" asked John and grinned even as Sherlock shook his head.

"You still have surgeon's hands," said Sherlock.

"Not that steady these days," said John and closed his fingers round Sherlock's hands. "Besides, with that tremor, carving a roast's about as much as I'll risk."

"I'd trust you," said Sherlock and John took a slow breath before he drew his hand back.

"Well, let's hope it never comes to that," said John and reached for the towel. "What was that, anyway."

"Hmm?"

"Sticky."

"Oh," said Sherlock and shook his head. "Nothing important. I'll get rid of it. I was done anyway."

"I'm not going to want to know, am I?"

"Probably not," said Sherlock. "If it helps, it wasn't supposed to be on the sofa. I must have dropped the scalp."

John stared at him. "There's a scalp in our living room?"

"It'll be gone," said Sherlock. "I think it had decomposed too much, to be honest."

John shook his head and turned back to the sink to scrub his hands again. "I want the sofa disinfected," he said. "Really. Just clean it."

"Oh _fine_ ," said Sherlock and stomped out, leaving John to try to deal with the uncomfortable knowledge that Sherlock's touch _was_ perfectly fine. The scalp business, that was bad, but Sherlock had touched him and  John had really liked it. He could only put it down to being starved for affection as it had been months since his last date and John missed being touched. It happened so rarely outside this flat. Sherlock touched him more often than anyone else, but it was usually followed up with a demand to put his coat on, or to find something on the laptop. At worst it was to ask for John to hand Sherlock something he could get himself and John had a private list of how many times he would do it before he'd have to get revenge.

This evening it was just a touch of fingers. Such a simple thing but enough to make John a little off his game and he wondered whether he would have let it last longer if he'd kept his eyes closed. He could have held on, could have let Sherlock linger and that wouldn't have been bad at all. Except that it was clearly not something they did and John walked back through to the living room. He glanced at the sofa where there was a damp patch that smelled strongly of bleach and risked sitting in his chair.

He flipped on the telly and sat back cautiously. The beer had left him sleepy and the chair was comfortable. He drifted, snoring absently as he slept. Bed seemed a long way away when he could snuggle down and John dreamed, his head full of long elegant fingers and eyes that seemed to see everything. John could find comfort in the dream, if his head had gone that way. Comfort would be fine, would be absolutely acceptable.

But John hadn't had _company_ in a very long while and the fingers that were welcome touched his hand, touched his shoulder and stripped him quickly of the shirt he wasn't wearing when he was awake. When he dreamed, John's skin was bared so that he could appreciate more of that touch. He groaned in his sleep as educated fingertips slid down over his belly. His dick hardened in his sleep and John arched in the chair, the hand that touched him in his dream taking a firm hold. While he slept he was tended to, taken care of and the rough grip that woke him was cruel.

"John!"

John blinked and looked up at Sherlock. The detective could no doubt win awards in looming, but John needed a little less closeness while he was this vulnerable. He pushed out, hands on Sherlock's belly as he tried to get up, but John's reactions were slow from sleep and Sherlock was unmoved. He stared at John, one eyebrow raised and John drew his hands back carefully, aware that he was touching belly and shirt and trousers all at once. He curled his fingers inward and shook his head.

"Were you having a nightmare?"

"No," said John sharply. He started at Sherlock's hand where it was stretched out to John's shoulder. He could lie about many things but those were the hands he'd seen with his eyes closed. Those fingers were the ones that wrapped round him in his subconscious and John wasn't fool enough to pretend his arousal was due to confusion. No, John Watson had just slept in his chair and dreamt about Sherlock wanking him off to what felt like a glorious finish.

John was very much conscious that his dick was hard and he took a quick breath and batted Sherlock's arm away. "I should go to bed."

"You called for me," said Sherlock. "Sort of...a bit odd."

"Yeah," he managed and considered standing up. "I had a bit to drink."

"You're not drunk."

"No, but it's been a long week and I," said John and then shook his head. "I think I'll just stay here for a bit."

"Oh," said Sherlock and stood up, straightening his shirt where John had rumpled it. "If this is about your erection, then I can assure you-"

"No!" John huffed hard and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "No, we are not talking about this."

"I was only going to say it's normal."

"No, it's not."

"Of course it is, you're a healthy adult in his late thirties."

John stood up and glared. "This is off the agenda."

Sherlock shrugged. "I was just saying it was fine."

"Don't start that again." John straightened himself up and nodded. "I'm going to bed."

"Wait."

John turned and Sherlock put both his hands behind his back as he nodded to his flatmate. "You're very good at asserting authority," he said and when John stared, Sherlock risked a quick smile. "Not with me, obviously, but you are quite commanding when you need to be."

"Where has this come from?" asked John and then sighed. "Ah, right. Okay, that's fine, Sherlock. Thank you."

"You're welcome," grinned Sherlock and stepped back. "More than a week."

"Yes, I've noticed," said John and looked back at Sherlock. "Oh stop it. You'll have to do better next week. You've probably exhausted the pleasant things you can say about people."

"About some people, yes," said Sherlock. "Anderson doesn't have a single redeeming feature."

"Nice," said John and turned on his heel. "Just try someone else."

"Not in the rules," said Sherlock.

John huffed and headed to bed. At least there he could pretend he hadn't been so disturbed by this evening's sleep affair. Here he could have that much privacy and he stripped quickly and buried deep into his covers, cocooning himself inside as he tried to think of anything but Sherlock. Anything but Sherlock's hands and he slept fitfully, knotting himself into his bedclothes as the night passed.

He wasn't entirely sure if he was dreaming again when Sherlock appeared in his bedroom. His brain refused to process everything clearly in the recesses of the night, but when Sherlock sat on the edge of his bed, John reached out, hand on cotton covered thigh as he trembled.

"What?" he managed and Sherlock bent down close to him.

"I've thought of something," said Sherlock and John rubbed his free hand over his eyes.

"At two in the morning? What the hell is it?"

"It's closer to three," said Sherlock and lowered his voice. "But I thought of something and it is tomorrow, so it counts."

"Oh," said John and struggled to move. His legs were tangled and he tugged hard on Sherlock's thigh to try and right himself before he gave in. "Okay," he huffed. "I'm stuck."

Sherlock leaned down and pressed his mouth to John's ear. He whispered, as though the thought itself could only be heard in the dark. "I like waking up with you."

"What?" asked John, voice still low. "You don't wake up with me."

"I have done, once or twice," said Sherlock and John nodded.

"Well, we were away from home," he said and turned his head slightly to look at Sherlock. "We don't normally."

"I know," said Sherlock. "But when we do, I like it."

"Okay," said John. "I'm not sure that's a compliment."

"But it's a nice thing to say."

"Well, again, nice is sort of relative, but it's not a compliment," said John. "You could say I'm the best person at waking up."

"You're not, you're rubbish," said Sherlock. "You tie yourself up in your own bedding and grumble for half an hour until you've had tea and toast."

"Yeah, that's not something you can count either," said John. "It's not about me."

"You are cute though," said Sherlock and John held his breath. The world appeared to stop and John could have sworn Sherlock chewed his lip. Even in the dark, he could tell when his best friend was a little unsure of himself. It happened so rarely that John would have to have been deaf, dumb and blind for his senses to ignore such an oddity. "When you wake up, you snuffle and snore and it's a bit cute. I can't think of another word to describe it."

"Now that is odd," said John. "Nothing?"

"Adorable," said Sherlock and sighed. "It's just _you_ though. Mycroft snores like no one's business and that's simply repellent."

"So," said John carefully. "You think I'm adorable when I wake up?"

"Something you're very bad at, yes."

"Still not a compliment," said John. "I mean, it's not like I'm _trying_ to be adorable."

"You're bloody annoying right now."

John grinned and leaned in closer. The night had made him bold and he could feel Sherlock's breath on his neck. "You could say I'm good at being adorable when I wake up."

"But you _aren't_ good at it," said Sherlock and sighed. "You just are, John."

"Hmm," said John and risked moving his hand along Sherlock's leg slightly. Nowhere too alarming, but simply higher, touching muscle beneath cotton and John thought in the night he could almost do anything. "Something else."

"You're very good at being annoying."

"Nope."

Sherlock huffed and as John felt sure he would pull away, Sherlock pressed his lips against John's throat. The pulse fluttered beneath Sherlock's mouth and he drew back so that John could see him. He couldn't see everything, but the outline of his scruffy head was clear and the brightness of Sherlock's eyes shone in the darkness. "You're good at being a distraction," said Sherlock quietly and John nodded slowly.

"That counts," he said and smiled as Sherlock did. He lifted his hand from Sherlock's leg and the detective drew himself upright and walked to the door.

"I'm going to try other people," he said and John scrambled to sit up, almost cutting off circulation in his leg to do so.

"As a distraction?"

"No," said Sherlock and tutted. "To give compliments to."

"Oh," said John and nodded. "Probably easier."

"No, it's not," said Sherlock and walked out, leaving John quite aware that this might melt by morning. Maybe it could only happen in the very depths of the night. Maybe, John thought, he had dreamt at least part of it. But he cradled the notion that he, John Watson, was an excellent distraction for the world's leading sociopath. There were far worse things to be and John grinned as he dropped off to sleep.

By Tuesday, Sherlock had bought, gifted and declared Mrs Hudon's new scarf to be perfect for her. John considered telling Sherlock that new things shouldn't count, but Mrs Hudson's happiness was quite genuine and John had never argued the affection they both felt for her. He watched Sherlock carefully to see if the man was about to buy a string of things to fulfill his side of the dare, but Sherlock spent the rest of the week alternately being annoyed and thrilled at the world.

Lestrade was complimented on having such excellent murders to offer. John had fought that one slightly, but Sherlock pointed out that Greg knew when he needed them and therefore was an excellent judge of when his betters were required. He didn't say that part in front of Lestrade and so John let him get away with that too. Sherlock looked better for having found nice things to say, or moreover being able to get closer to winning the bet. John didn't mind. He couldn't imagine Sherlock thinking of enough positive praise to last the month and laughed loudly when the man was forced to call his brother and inform him that his umbrella was adequate.

"Oh, that so doesn't count," grinned John as Sherlock grimaced. "Adequate is _not_ a compliment."

"It's a _fine_ umbrella," said Sherlock and hung up abruptly. "He has several, you know."

"One for each suit?" asked John and lifted both his hands. "I'm clearly a genius. Getting you to be nice to Mycroft was the best thing ever. The look on your face!"

"It's not a look."

"Yeah, it is," grinned John and found he couldn't stop chuckling. He was still amused when he went to bed, half wondering what would happen in the morning when Sherlock had to risk telling someone like Donovan something pleasant. He woke somewhere in the early hours and headed to the bathroom, shorts on and hair standing to unruly attention. John was a little surprised to be greeted by Sherlock on the way back out again, but grinned up at him and flipped a salute.

"It's all yours."

"It's Friday," said Sherlock and John raised his eyebrows.

"Me again?"

"It would be you every day," said Sherlock impatiently. "But I'm trying to be nice."

"Oh I don't think I could stand that," said John and settled his hands on his hips. "Okay. Say it quick and we can get back to bed."

"I can't say it," said Sherlock and frowned. "I don't actually know."

"So sleep on it," said John. "Think of something for tomorrow."

"I don't want to."

John raised his eyebrows. "Well, you're going to have to do something before I freeze my balls off."

He opened his mouth to say that Sherlock might freeze his off as well, since he'd left his dressing gown behind, but Sherlock stepped forward and pressed cold lips to John's own. Cold, but soft and full and warming as he kissed John with guarded need. John was a little shocked, but he closed his eyes when he felt Sherlock tremble slightly. He leaned up, meeting his flatmate in a kiss that had little style or grace but a certain urgency in the darkness of their own bathroom.

Sherlock drew back, licking his own lip as he stared at John. "You're..." He shook his head. "I wanted to say you are a good kisser."

John blinked and raised both eyebrows. "What?"

"We clashed teeth," said Sherlock. "I think you bit my lip."

"I'm a brilliant kisser," said John and stared back. "You took me by surprise!"

"I wanted to say it," said Sherlock and John reached for him again. He kissed Sherlock harder than before, his tongue sweeping over Sherlock's bottom lip as his hand captured the man's jawline. He stroked, fingers brushing the fine skin at Sherlock's neck and John growled slightly until Sherlock kissed him back. John pulled away as Sherlock panted and cleared his throat.

"I'm a _brilliant_ kisser," he said and Sherlock inclined his head.

"There's certainly promise," he said and John rolled his eyes and headed back up the stairs. "Better on second go!"

"Goodnight, Sherlock," said John and walked up the stairs.

He wasn't at all sure he'd survive Sherlock being nice.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 14th February. Sherlock and John have a relatively quiet day at home.
> 
> Of course, they are both fighting a certain amount of sexual tension, so there'll be that to deal with too.
> 
> Definite smut. Promise!

John spent the next day away from Sherlock. He hadn't deleted his midnight kiss or the compliment Sherlock had reluctantly offered, but he hadn't addressed it either. It was quite one thing to be kissed by your flatmate, (who might well do such a thing just for a dare) but another to be told that you hadn't met the expected standard. Admittedly the second kiss, (that John had delivered in something like an attack) had been far more successful, but John hadn't expected to kiss Sherlock at all.

Now he had. Now he planned to spend as much time away from Sherlock as possible so that the man would be forced to deliver his compliments to someone else while John dealt with it. He caught a few hours in the clinic, covering a lunchtime so the others could get out. He spent time at the pub afterward and ensured he didn't drink too much. John flirted some with a few pretty girls at the bar and didn't get their numbers. He was fairly sure he could have done, but found he didn't quite have the heart for it.

So John went home, tense until he realised that the flat was empty and Sherlock had gone somewhere without leaving word. He rarely left any word but John was surprised at his own disappointment. He flipped the telly on and sat on the sofa, bottle of beer in hand as he watched and didn't see. He put his feet up on the chair and ran a spare hand over his hair as he finally allowed himself to think about kissing Sherlock.

Kissing a man didn't bother him in the slightest. He'd never identified as gay but it made no difference to the occasional affairs he'd had. They flew somewhere under the radar on John's list of people he'd been involved with. If asked he simply dropped them off the menu, as something private and just for John. He suspected there might be an element of shame somewhere, that he wasn't completely satisfied with women, but the truth was that John accepted every situation and adapted. If men were on the menu, then men John would have.

If Sherlock was on the menu for midnight kisses in their own bathroom, John wished that he'd managed to leave a better impression. He settled back on the sofa and sulked, eyes closed, resting through the dull noises from the telly. He played the moment over, the surprise and the lingering warmth in the darkness. He longed to set it right, but Sherlock had planned for compliments, delivered something like it and John had headed back to bed and slept, knotting himself up in his bedding without someone to wrap himself round.

He dozed on the sofa, sleeping through until morning. His back was stiff when he woke up and found Sherlock sitting in his own chair. His silhouette was backlit by the morning light through the windows, his feet drawn up onto the seat and his hands on his knees. John struggled to sit up straight and rubbed a hand back through his hair. Sherlock turned to look at him and settled his chin on his hands.

"How long've you been there?"

"I don't know," said Sherlock and tilted his head to look at his flatmate. "A while."

John yawned, joints popping as he stretched out and decided he was an idiot for not going to bed when he could. He was aware of Sherlock watching him and, having spent a day away from the man, felt like he might be more able to cope. There was no real reason to talk about the kiss and he grinned absently and got to his feet.

"You want a cuppa?" he asked and Sherlock nodded. John headed to the kitchen and opened the fridge door. It took him a few seconds to realise that as well as fresh milk, the fridge contained something John recognised but didn't place. He blinked and set the milk on one side, flipping the switch on the kettle before he reached in and pulled out the box on the second shelf. "Sherlock," he began. "Didn't we talk about this?"

Sherlock stayed put and shrugged at him. "It's in a box."

"It's a heart," said John. "It's in the fridge."

"It's in your hand," said Sherlock and huffed. "In a box. I thought you'd find it hygienic."

"I don't usually look for hearts in the fridge," said John. "What's it for?"

"You," said Sherlock and when John stared at him, he shrugged again. "I thought you'd like it, considering the date."

"It's Saturday," said John. "What's it got to do with it being the weekend?"

"The date, John. Not the day." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I can scratch 'always keeps track of the date' from  the possibles."

"You have a list?" asked John and shook his head. He glanced at the calendar and then looked back at Sherlock. "Oh," he said. " _That_ date."

"Thought you might like it," said Sherlock and John grinned slowly.

"You know, cards and chocolates are more traditional."

"Boring."

"Yes, but more traditional," said John. "What made you think I wanted a heart?"

Sherlock lifted his shoulders, boyish in his dressing gown and all John could see of his face were his expressive eyes. "You reacted quite badly the other night. I know you don't like anatomy in the home, and I _will_ dispose of it after I've used it, but I thought you'd appreciate the gesture."

John nodded slowly and set the box down before he walked to Sherlock and stretched a hand out. He meant to set it on the man's shoulder. He meant very much to tell him that everything was all right. He meant to do something entirely different, but he slid his fingers beneath Sherlock's chin and tipped his face up. John bent down and pressed his mouth warmly against Sherlock's own. Sherlock's lips were dry, but soft and warm when John kissed him. John licked over Sherlock's bottom lip and sucked slowly, committed as he was to the kiss he hadn't meant to deliver.

He kissed him, because kissing felt like the right thing to do and closed his eyes as he felt Sherlock catch his breath and kiss him back. John grinned when he felt Sherlock's hand settle on the back of his neck, long fingers stroking beneath John's hair as they embraced. He took his time, nose against Sherlock's cheek and John's fingers slid down to grip the edges of his dressing gown. John kissed, tasted and drew back only when he needed to catch his breath.

"Thank you, Sherlock," he said and grinned. "Happy Valentine's Day."

"You didn't get me anything," said Sherlock. "You're a terrible Valentine."

"That's not in the game."

"I don't care," said Sherlock and licked his lip. "I got _you_ something."

"I got you tea," said John and grinned as he stretched again and walked back to the kitchen to pour it out. His mouth felt warm where he'd kissed Sherlock, and he was thoroughly aware that he'd made some sort of statement. He'd kissed Sherlock when the sun shone and he couldn't blame any of it on bad dreams. He'd kissed him and John felt a slight relief when he realised that he'd taken decisive action and that made up for any worry he had about doing it. After all, the man had secured him a human heart, even if it wasn't entirely Sherlock's own.

He brought tea back through and passed a cup over, settling himself down on the sofa in a much more upright fashion. John took a sip and risked looking at Sherlock. "Go on then."

"Hmm?" said Sherlock. "Oh. Thank you for the tea."

"I meant," said John. "Go on then, give me a better compliment than you did the other night."

Sherlock pursed his lips and blew gently over the top of his tea to cool it. "I can't say the same thing again."

"You can amend it."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "You're fishing for compliments. It's not attractive."

John grinned and drank his tea. "I'm not," he said. "That was good. You know that was good."

"So that was to prove a point?" asked Sherlock and nodded slowly. "You're more ruthless than I thought."

"I'm not being ruthless," said John. "How is that ruthless? We snogged and it was good. _I_ was good," he said and licked over his bottom lip. "You know it was really good."

"I've already said it," said Sherlock.

"No, you said you hoped I would be." John shrugged. "And I was. Just pointing it out."

"Then you already know and I'm not repeating myself," said Sherlock.

John stared, barked out a laugh and shook his head. "Well, you would see it like that."

"That you kissed me to prove you deserve praise," said Sherlock. "Yes, I see that very clearly, John."

"It wasn't just that," said John. "Honestly, I just thought, you know, with it being today and all, that it was a good idea."

"Because it's the fourteenth of February?"

"Yes."

"And the fifteenth wouldn't do?"

"We haven't got there," pointed out John. "I don't know. I wanted to, today."

"Right," said Sherlock and stood up, carrying his cup. "Well, thank you for the kiss."

John got to his feet and put his hand out to catch Sherlock's upper arm before he could leave. "Thank you for my heart."

"I want it back," said Sherlock. "I have tests to run."

"So it's just on loan?" asked John and winked when Sherlock looked at him. "Oh come on, I'm sorry. I was just being a bit of an arse, that's all. I like the heart. I do. I think it's better than a card and I really don't like chocolate all that much. It's a bit more romantic than I expected, that's all."

"What did you expect?"

"Nothing."

Sherlock stared at him. "Nothing?"

"Now who's repeating things?"

"Sentiment is dangerous, John. And _I_ risked it." Sherlock shook his head. "I thought you'd appreciate it."

"I do," said John and stepped in front of him. "I do. I promise I do. Please don't get the hump over this."

"I do _not_ do that," said Sherlock and narrowed his eyes as he looked at John. "This isn't to placate me."

"Of course not."

Sherlock nodded after a second's consideration. "All right," he said. "Apology accepted. Now can I go and take a shower?"

John lifted his hands. "Sure. Just don't want you to think I just kissed you for the hell of it."

"Would you?"

"Hmm?"

"Kiss me for the hell of it."

"Oh," said John and stepped forward, one hand up to slide round Sherlock's neck. "Oh yes."

He kissed Sherlock soundly, greedily anticipating the softness of the man's mouth as John was kissed back. He relished the slick press of Sherlock's tongue and sucked slowly as he leaned in closer. John could feel the press of flesh hidden behind cotton, the lean torso firm against his own. He could feel interest against his belly and grinned into the kiss as Sherlock dropped his hand to the small of John's back and pulled him closer. In the quiet of the flat, John could hear the noises they were making, panting, sweaty noises that made him think that Valentine's Day was ideal for rough sex.

He drew back, his lip bitten in the process and he grinned at Sherlock. John slid his hands down the inside of Sherlock's dressing gown and tossed it to the ground. He made short work of the t-shirt beneath it and tugged at the cotton of Sherlock's pants, pushing them down to his thighs so John could slide his hand firmly round Sherlock's dick and take a grip. His hand was damp where they'd feasted on heated kisses and it slid easily over Sherlock's flesh. John reached out, free hand on the back of Sherlock's neck to bring him back in for another of those sticky, slick kisses that built heat in John's groin and made his dick throb.

Sherlock moaned against John's mouth, his hands still on John's back as he rocked his hips toward John's grip. John might have been fully clothed, but his dick stood proudly against his jeans and pushed at his zip. Each throb his own dick gave seemed to be matched by Sherlock's and he sucked at the man's tongue as he slid his hand up and over, palming the smooth flesh until Sherlock bucked hard against his fist and spilled. John could feel it against the back of his hand and knew it had spattered his shirt, warm liquid that confirmed they'd moved on a step.

John drew back slowly, easing away from the kiss as he tried to get a handle on his own arousal. His mouth felt swollen and his dick was liquid lead in his jeans. He lifted his hand to his lip as Sherlock stared and John licked at the salty liquid that pooled between thumb and forefinger. "I need to take a shower," he said and Sherlock nodded and drew his pajama bottoms back up slowly.

"You do," he said. "You need to brush your teeth too."

"Thanks."

"I thought you'd know that."

"Yeah, I did. You're not supposed to mention it when you've just got a hand job," said John and grinned as he considered what they'd done. "A good hand job."

"Excellent," said Sherlock and grinned back. "Good work, John."

John giggled and pushed his way past Sherlock to head to the bathroom. He pushed his clothes off quickly and turned the shower on. His body felt tense but tingly, as though he was energised by everything that they'd done and couldn't shake it off. He didn't want to and as soon as John stood naked under the spray, he jerked his fingers eagerly over the length of his dick, efficiently bringing himself to climax as he let his memory play back everything that was Sherlock and John misbehaving in their own flat.

He stood under the water, letting it soak his skin and wash away the evidence of coming. His body body still felt flushed and alert. John knew he'd only ever felt this with Sherlock, whether it was from running through London, chasing criminals, or just following Sherlock's dizzying intellect. John had another piece of the puzzle and knew that their relationship had a tenuous extra path they could tread.

He toweled off and dressed, leaving the flat for a quick visit to Tescos. By the time he'd returned, Sherlock was ensconced in his bedroom and the heart was missing. John didn't mind at all and sat at the table, bent over the card he'd bought and the chocolates he'd picked out. He stuck his tongue out as he concentrated and by the time Sherlock emerged from his room, much of the day had passed. John cooked dinner and as he poured out a reasonable wine, he watched Sherlock read his card.

"Interesting," said Sherlock as he looked back at John. "You realise you've spelled indecent with two C's?"

"Typo," said John. "Bound to happen."

"And the word 'fuck' is repeated three, no, _four_ times?"

"Emphasis," said John and grinned at him. "I thought you'd appreciate me being direct."

"Direct doesn't tend to come with Hallmark," said Sherlock and lifted the glass as he looked at John. "Is this your idea of a romantic gesture?"

"It _is_ Valentine's Day."

"Yes, but I'm given to understand that cards are brief and to the point and say things like, 'I love you, Snookums'." Sherlock shook his head and gestured with the card. "This is an essay."

"I don't see you as Snookums," said John flatly. "And besides, it was sort of a joke."

"I see."

"No," said John. "Don't get huffy. I just meant I wanted to give you something for today."

"Thank you," said Sherlock. "But your hand was quite sufficient. You are very good at that, John."

"Wanking you off?"

"Yes," said Sherlock and John laughed. "What?"

"Nothing," said John and leaned over to kiss him. "Good compliment."

Sherlock quirked a smile. "I'm doing better than you thought."

"Yeah," said John. "I didn't think you'd last a day."

"Really?" asked Sherlock. "I am capable of being pleasant to people. It's just an unnecessary waste of time."

John chuckled. "But you're willing to do it for a bet."

"The stakes are high, John. Don't forget that."

"Yeah, but you haven't said what you want."

"You're so sure I won't win, so what does it matter?" asked Sherlock and tilted his wine glass. "To victory."

"I'll drink to that," said John and clinked his glass to Sherlock's own. He took a deep swallow before he looked back at his friend. "This thing though, that stays between us?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "It was just one hand job, John. What do you expect me to do? Put a note through to Mrs Hudson?"

"God forbid," said John. "I just meant-"

"Yes, I know what you meant," said Sherlock and shook his head. "It's our business."

"Right," said John and licked his lip. "Course, if it's staying between us, we could have a little after supper..." He caught his breath and took another drink. "I mean we could go to bed."

"I can hardly believe a man who'd write-," Sherlock paused and picked up the card, "-that he wanted to bugger me senseless, would be coy asking to go to bed."

"I _did_ ask you to go to bed."

"Hmm," said Sherlock and stood up, taking the card with him. "Not tonight, John. I'm tired."

"Oh," said John. "You sure?"

"Yes, of course I'm sure," said Sherlock and almost without warning leaned over and kissed John soundly before he left the room. "Night, John."

"Night," said John and licked his lip. He finished off his dinner and took a book to bed, disappointed but aware that while things might have changed, they hadn't changed in _every_ way. They hadn't suddenly become different people just because Sherlock Holmes and John Watson had indulged in a few naughty moments. He read his book and understood none of it. He slept uneasily as he kept hoping that Sherlock would disturb him with a quick blowjob or just climb in bed.

Unfortunately for John, Sherlock remained conspicuously absent and John woke up alone and grumpy. He padded downstairs to where Sherlock was perched at the table, working through a stack of what looked like incomprehensible gibberish to John. "Morning," said John and Sherlock grunted slightly. "Kettle on?"

"I've made you tea," said Sherlock. "And toast."

John blinked and looked round to find that Sherlock had indeed provided breakfast. The tea was luke warm and the toast a little soggy, but John decided he appreciated the effort and sat down at the table. He looked over at Sherlock and nodded to the papers. "Cheers for this," he said. "Anything I can help you with?"

"Unlikely," said Sherlock and looked up at him. "You're intriguingly tousled in the morning, John."

John paused, mid-bite and considered. "You getting your compliments out of the way first thing?"

"So you agree, it is a compliment?"

"I'm part way through breakfast," said John. "It'll do."

Sherlock grinned. "How about, _deliciously_ tousled?"

John giggled. "Stick to intriguing."

"Counts?"

"Yep," said John and drank the tea as he looked over the table. "You're going to have to do someone else tomorrow, you know?"

"For compliments, or sexual favours?"

John coughed and put the tea down. "Compliments?"

"Fine," said Sherlock and smirked. "I'll do my best to restrain myself."

"Good," said John. "Try hard, please?"

Sherlock chuckled and turned back to his papers. "Jealous, John?"

"Very," said John and reached for the morning's paper. "And I carry a gun. Just a reminder."

"You're very persuasive," said Sherlock and raised a hand. "Not a compliment. I'm saving that one for another day."

John grinned and turned back to the headline. He planned to keep an eye on Sherlock and made a note to keep the gun handy.

Just in case.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock still has a lot of complimenting to do. John's a bit confused about what has been happening between them and wants a proper answer.
> 
> Smut, kisses and fluff.
> 
> Oh and Sherlock attempts to compliment the dead.

A corpse was unable to receive a compliment. John had thought that this was self evident, but apparently not to Sherlock, who argued that the act of saying a nice thing should count and that he was not responsible for the behaviour of the recipient. John pointed out that the recipient should at least be alive or Sherlock would start saying nice things to the skull and that would be the end of their deal. There was a certain amount of pouting on both sides, but it was John who realised they were having this argument at a crime scene and forced Sherlock out and into one of the side rooms where they could have a moment's dusty privacy.

"It doesn't count," said John and Sherlock rolled his eyes. "No. No way you're complimenting the dead."

"They've often done far more admirable things than the living."

"That isn't the point," said John. "You can't make a corpse's day and I'm really not going to start discussing the paranormal with you. You compliment the living. The human living or the deal's off."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and lolled back against the wall. "You're taking the fun out of this."

"It's a challenge, Sherlock. You like challenges."

"I like problems," said Sherlock. "This isn't a problem. This is another two weeks of having to find something nice to say about people."

"You've been nice."

"Yes, and it's _painful_ ," sighed Sherlock. "Why do people need flattery? Isn't knowing that they are or aren't something enough?"

"You like it when you get compliments," said John and Sherlock frowned.

"You haven't called me brilliant in ages," sulked Sherlock.

"So it does bother you," said John. "It bothers everyone when they're not appreciated."

"I appreciate efficiency," said Sherlock. "And loyalty."

"That's new."

"You're loyal," said Sherlock. "And you're relatively new."

John chuckled and stepped closer to Sherlock. "Well," he said. " _You_ like it, so you do get it."

Sherlock sighed. "Yes, but it's boring, John. You want me to say nice things to people who will no doubt feel pleasure for a few minutes and then it won't matter. None of it matters."

"And the things you said to me?"

Sherlock paused and then leaned down and kissed John chastely. His mouth was warm and his lips pressed to John's before he drew himself up to his full height. "You said it can't be you all the time."

"That's not what I asked."

Sherlock stared at him and shrugged. "I mean them."

"Then it matters."

"With you."

"With anyone."

"Oh very _well_ ," snapped Sherlock and flung open the door. Anderson walked past and Sherlock grabbed his shoulder to stop him. Anderson whirled round and Sherlock cleared his throat. "You aren't a complete waste of space _all_ the time."

The look on the man's face was worth it to John and he reached out and carefully removed Sherlock's fingers from the coverall Anderson wore. "We'll be going soon," he said and closed the door, secluding them again so he could lean forward and rest his forehead on Sherlock's chest. John buried his giggles and after a few seconds felt Sherlock's hand rest on his shoulders. "Oh that's perfect."

"It's almost entirely true," said Sherlock. "He does suck air out of the world that would be better spent on someone less...wrong."

"You're absolutely right," grinned John and looked up at Sherlock. "Well done, though. That was pretty good."

Sherlock smiled and slid his hand up to John's neck. "I'm quite capable of winning this."

"Sure," said John. "You're capable of losing it too. I'm looking forward to seeing you cook."

"Shut up."

"Wearing a pinny," grinned John. "You'll look very domestic, I'm sure."

"John," began Sherlock and rubbed his thumb against the back of John's neck. "I can do anything."

"Maybe," said John and reached up to grab Sherlock's lapels. "But you can relax now. You're all complimented out for the day."

"And you're going to kiss me anyway," said Sherlock. "I don't need to say anything nice about it."

"Nope," said John and tugged to bring Sherlock down to his level so he didn't get a crick in his neck. "You can be an arse, same as always."

"Is this how you seduce all your lovers?"

"Nope, just you. You're _special_ ,' said John and heard Sherlock chuckle. Felt Sherlock chuckle when he kissed him and in the quiet of the little room, John tasted a kiss that happened outside their flat and therefore existed in the real world. He wasn't sure when he'd started to think of 221b as Wonderland, or when he'd cast himself as the March Hare to Sherlock's Mad Hatter, but here in the real world they were Sherlock and John and they kissed as though it was an every day event.

He licked his lip when he drew back and grinned at Sherlock. "Okay," he said. "We're out of here."

"I can just concentrate on the case?"

"If you like," said John and winked as he opened the door. "We could do something tonight."

"Depends on the case," said Sherlock. "If it's sex you want, we could do that any time."

"Oh," said John and glanced into the hallway. It was empty and thankfully no-one had heard his flatmate offer such a blunt proposition. "Well, theoretically I know we could, but we don't."

"We haven't," said Sherlock. "It doesn't mean we won't."

"This..." John stopped, cleared his throat and stood up straighter. "This is a conversation for another time."

"Oh?"

"When we're not trying to find a killer, okay?" John smiled at him and Sherlock rolled his eyes. He swept past John in the hallway and headed toward the crime scene.

"Whatever makes you feel fine," said Sherlock and John grumbled and followed behind.

They didn't talk about it that night, as they were occupied with a long walk along the banks of the Thames to look for something John couldn't see the importance of. The night stretched out as Sherlock bent down to examine rocks that looked identical to other rocks to John. He felt grumpy and tired and unwilling to talk about sex or about what had happened so far and what might happen between them. He slipped once or twice and by the time they headed home in the morning light, John had a greasy stain on the back of his jeans he was certain wouldn't come out.

He didn't care that Sherlock used the opportunity to thank the cab driver for taking the more sensible and direct route. John wanted to sleep and waved Sherlock off when he pointed out he was over half way to winning the bet. The weary doctor trudged up the stairs to bed and slept hard, his brain refusing to engage on any level until late the following afternoon. In some ways John felt their lifestyle was closer to the student years he'd had, where time was an optional dimension to consider and only ever when Sherlock deemed it important.

He was still feeling the lack of sleep a day later, because when Sherlock actively thanked Mrs Hudson for the  good care she took of them both, John barely blinked. He did watch with a smile as she hugged Sherlock and reached out as she embraced John too. He'd heard her call them both 'her boys' before, but she seemed so pleased and John grinned at Sherlock over the top of her head.

"I don't know why you're hugging him," said Sherlock. " _I_ delivered the compliment."

"Oh you know you're both my favourite," she said and squeezed them both before she stepped back. "John, you look tired, dear. Have you taken a nap?"

"He does nothing but sleep," said Sherlock and sighed. "He's fine, Mrs Hudson. I'll ensure he gets his rest."

"I don't know, the pair of you, up at all hours."

"It's fine, Mrs Hudson," smiled John. "I'd be bored if we didn't."

"Oh," she said. "Well, we wouldn't want that. I don't think the wallpaper would cope with both of you."

John laughed, Sherlock raised an eyebrow and Mrs Hudson pecked them both on the cheek before she left with a light blush on her skin. Molly was more flushed when Sherlock told her she was an excellent resource. John didn't think that anyone should feel pleased at being called a thing, but Molly's pretty face glowed and she forgot to worry about impressing Sherlock. She even smiled at John and Sherlock carried out his latest investigation mostly in peace with Molly's willing and adoring assistance.

He surprised John the day after by visiting Tescos to pick up groceries. John watched Sherlock skeptically and wondered when the urge to pick up odd combinations of household chemicals for his experiments would strike. Annoyingly, Sherlock seemed interested in actual food and bought in wine for them both. More annoyingly, he had no problem at all using the chip and pin machine at the self service tills and John briefly hated him when Sherlock struck on the opportunity to leave a note on the wall. John read the delicately scripted note and huffed at the compliment. Sherlock addressed it to the manager and stated that self service was the perfect way to shop. The underlined 'well done' made John sulk and he kicked at the curb when he walked home behind Sherlock.

"I don't think it counts if you don't say it."

"You're stretching your own rules," said Sherlock. "I'm having this one. It's an excellent idea."

"It's fucking difficult," said John. "Those machines don't like me."

"They're machines," said Sherlock. "Just get better with them."

"You could always do the shopping all the time," said John and Sherlock laughed and put the shopping away. John cooked and thought briefly about the way food might turn out if Sherlock actually cooked it. He didn't think it would be incredible and he _did_ think it might be inedible, but he was starting to doubt that Sherlock would lose. John had known almost from day one that Sherlock refused to be beaten at anything and had started this whole bet just to have Sherlock show some appreciation for anything, particularly something about living with John.

He hadn't expected the kisses. He hadn't expected to hold the memory of Sherlock's dick or to feel just a little confused about what had changed between them. John knew that Sherlock had made the offer of sex, but John didn't want to go to bed with Sherlock only for the man to write it off as an experience, not to be repeated. John made a serious effort to be a good lover when he was really interested in his partner. He did things well and he liked sex. He liked the closeness it brought with the right person and, strange and exotic as Sherlock was, John thought there was a serious risk that Sherlock had been the right person for a very long time.

Moreover, John didn't know how much Sherlock did know about sex. The man might have never taken his pants off in front of anyone before the other night, or he might have shagged his way through the nation, (excluding John) and John just wouldn't know. Sherlock went off at all hours and while he was married to his work, it didn't exclude the sorts of one night stands that no longer interested John. John was wary of making an assumption that made him look foolish either way. He could look like a dick if he assumed Sherlock knew what to do in bed and he could look like an even bigger dick if he assumed he didn't.

John hadn't been to bed with anyone whose experience had been so in question for a very long time. It wasn't that he minded either way, although he couldn't help wondering if he'd be filed away neatly if he was one in a very long list. The thought clearly haunted his dreams and he woke somewhere in the small hours, having decided that he would take the Sherlock line to get his answers. John crept down to Sherlock's room and pushed open the always unlocked door.

Sherlock sprawled over his own bed the way he lounged in the living room. He stretched out over the mattress, arms and legs appearing to touch every last corner. John looked down at him for what felt like minutes, determined that one way or another he would move forward with this. He reached out and tugged back the sheets so he could climb onto the bed and find a place to insinuate himself. To John's delight, Sherlock shifted easily and made room for his flatmate. John found himself a space on the bed and rested on his forearm as he watched Sherlock sleep.

The man was strange to look at. Sometimes John thought he looked like the oddest elements of humanity, something unearthly and put together by someone who'd heard about attractive features but hadn't seen them on an actual face. He never sat on chairs properly if he could help it. John had seen more of Sherlock's bare feet than he expected to, curled round the edges of cushions and chairs. He had seen Sherlock scrunched up or stretched out and he always seemed to be slightly too big for anything he chose to sit on. 

Other times, John thought he was best friend to the most beautiful man in creation. On those days John was a little overwhelmed and wanted to ask how Sherlock could change himself just with a simple expression. John had filed away the things that made Sherlock look beautiful, his smile, his eyes crinkling, his expression when he knew something no-one else did. He knew that Sherlock could manipulate people around him by being what they needed to see, and he supposed it had worked on him more than once. But John liked Sherlock best when it was the man beneath the sociopathic exterior.

He moved slowly, hand out to stroke over Sherlock's bare chest, the smooth skin supple beneath John's fingers. Sherlock shifted and opened his eyes, conscious of the touch but not panicked and he smiled at John. "You could have said earlier."

"I wasn't sure."

"That you were coming here?" asked Sherlock and rubbed a hand over his eyes as he woke up. "There's something on your mind."

"Well yeah," said John. "I'm in your bed."

"You want to know whether you should be gentle with me."

"That's not quite how I'd put it," said John and leaned forward, hand flat on the bed by Sherlock's belly. He leaned down to press his mouth to Sherlock's and lingered when the man smiled. "I want to know if I'm..."

"What?"

"Corrupting you," said John and Sherlock laughed. "Ah, okay, so I'm not. Right, I should have known."

"How?" asked Sherlock and licked over his lip before he turned to his back. "Tell me what you think?"

"Hmm?"

"About me." Sherlock stretched his arms up above his head and grinned up at John. "Tell me what you think my sexual history is?"

John stared down at him. "I came to seduce you. I didn't expect to have to pass a test."

"You came down here to ask me if I'm a virgin or a whore," said Sherlock. "And you think you should have known. So please, tell me why you've made your choice."

John rolled his eyes and sat up. "I can't do this."

"Seduce or deduce me?"

"Either," said John. He sighed and looked back at Sherlock. "You could be either and I don't know."

"Ah," said Sherlock and licked over his lip as he reached out for John's hand. He slid his fingers alongside John's to link and smiled when John looked at him. "Would it help if I tell you?"

"If you tell me the truth, sure," said John.

"Will it change what you want to do?"

"No, just how I do it," said John and sighed. "Just tell me, Sherlock. I don't care either way, but I want to know."

"Why does it matter?"

"Because if you've never done this before, I know I should go slower over some stuff," said John. "I can't just assume you know what to do just because you've got the biggest brain in the universe."

Sherlock grinned and leaned up to kiss him. "Will it make you less tense if you know?"

"God, yes," said John. "Are you a virgin?"

Sherlock ran his tongue over his bottom lip and sat up on the bed. He drew John in and kissed him hard, his tongue a slick muscle as he explored John's mouth. John sucked slowly and touched Sherlock's back, his neck, his hands on the man's skin as he waited for his answer. He drew back, his breathing uneven as he looked at his best friend. "Sherlock?"

"Yes," said Sherlock and slid his hand down over John's chest and belly. His fingers brushed and then palmed the hard length beneath John's pajamas and he grinned. "Now will you have sex with me?"

"Oh yeah," said John and nodded before he pinned Sherlock back against the bed, hands wrapped round Sherlock's wrists so he could kiss him. John licked Sherlock's lip and eased down further on the bed, his body slick with sweat in the heat of the bedroom as he explored. He paused briefly at Sherlock's belly before John caught the elastic of his pajamas with his teeth and drew them down. He heard Sherlock catch his breath and grinned against the slick length of Sherlock's dick. "You ever had a blow job before?" he asked and Sherlock chuckled above him.

"No," said Sherlock and then groaned as John licked over the head of his dick. "That's-"

"Yeah," grinned John and took Sherlock's dick in his mouth. He sucked gently, letting Sherlock get used to that sensation before he slid his lips down further. He wrapped his hand round the shaft and worked it slowly, drawing it up as his mouth slid down and John was struck by how many firsts they'd had. Some had been initiated by Sherlock, (first deduction, first crime scene, first consulting criminal) and some by John, (first rescue by shooting the murderer, first blog post, first friend) but this was a first they were taking together. This, their first step into a place where they were more than just the consulting detective and his ex-army doctor.

He sucked until Sherlock groaned louder than ever and picked up speed to bring him to climax. Sherlock cried out, his hand clutched at John's neck and hair as he arched up off the bed. John eased back slowly, leaned up and licked over his bottom lip. He reveled in having heard his name on Sherlock's lips when he came and John leaned over Sherlock's body, finding places he could lay against the man and slide his legs against Sherlock's own.

Sherlock slid his arms round John's back as the man braced himself above. John leaned down to kiss him and felt Sherlock explore, his tongue touched to John's to taste where he'd spilled and been swallowed all up. John grinned at him and drew back to lick his lip. "Good?"

"Very good," said Sherlock and rocked his hips slowly against John's own where the man was hard. "Your mouth, John."

"Hmm?"

Sherlock reached up and stroked his index finger over the shape of John's lips. "Your mouth is perfect."

John giggled and licked Sherlock's finger in the process. "Have you seen yours?"

"Yes," said Sherlock. "But yours is better."

"Why?"

"Because I can kiss it," said Sherlock and leaned up to do so. "And because that was brilliant."

John grinned and wriggled against Sherlock to feel angles and smooth planes beneath him. "Best compliment so far," he said and Sherlock laughed.

"I have seven days to go," said Sherlock and pulled John against him for another kiss. "I'm sure I can improve on that."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is in the last week of the dare and decides to spend the entire time complimenting John.
> 
> Clothes are pretty much optional but the smut is not.

They didn't leave the flat much the following week. John steps out once or twice for groceries and Thai food, but without a case, he and Sherlock spent their time investigating each other instead of the queries that stack up on the Science of Deduction. John made them breakfast in bed on the Sunday and Sherlock declared John to be a wonder at providing eggs and bacon. John wasn't quite sure it was a perfect compliment, but he liked the way Sherlock ate the lot, practically feasting in a way that made John think about Enid Blyton stories. He really liked it when Sherlock told him that they needed to do something with the excessive energy and they spent much of the rest of the day with Sherlock perfecting his blow job technique.

John fully expected that the respite would last through the weekend only, but Sherlock barely put pants on long enough to pick up the mail and took John's hand and led him back to the bedroom. John was quite sure Mrs Hudson could hear them from Sherlock's bedroom, but it didn't stop him getting loud as Sherlock demonstrated his gift for imitation and made John see stars when he came in that gorgeous mouth. His dick had started to throb if Sherlock so much as glanced in his direction lately and John was grateful that he was finally in a position to do something about it with his best friend.

However, despite the heat of newly discovered passion, both men needed some time to themselves. John took a long shower, letting the heat of the water soak into his skin as he realised that for the first time in months, he didn't feel the urge to masturbate under the spray. Part of it was due to the knowledge that he wasn't eighteen and he only had so many times he could go without having to plead exhaustion. Mostly it was because John wanted to share those moments with Sherlock. He'd been delighted to find that Sherlock was far more considerate of John than he'd anticipated. Sherlock wanted to enjoy John fully and John had absolutely no problem indulging him.

He scrubbed himself down, washed his hair and stepped out with a towel wrapped round his hips, enjoying the freedom to be a lot more naked than usual. John walked through to the front room, sighed when he realised Sherlock was using his laptop and reached to take it off him. "I changed the password _again_."

"Hardly testing," said Sherlock and drummed his fingertips on his knees. "I thought, given that I sucked your penis this morning, you wouldn't mind."

"It's still mine, Sherlock."

"So's your penis."

"Yes, and I wouldn't want you using that without asking, either. Why didn't you use your own?"

"Bedroom," said Sherlock and tilted his head. "We are talking about the laptop?"

"Yes," said John and put the laptop away before he leaned down and kissed Sherlock's damp and rumpled hair. It was soft and smelled of salt, as did the man himself and John was suddenly quite aware that the entire flat smelled of sex. "Why don't you grab a shower and I'll make us a cup of tea?"

"Tea?" asked Sherlock. "I think we ought to stay away from hot drinks this afternoon."

"Fine, I'll make punch or something," said John and reached to pull Sherlock to his feet. "I'll make the bed, make us a drink and when you get back out, I'll show you a new trick."

"This involves us getting naked?"

"Very naked," grinned John and glanced at the laptop. "What were you looking at, anyway?"

"Bedding," said Sherlock.

"Really? Why?"

Sherlock shrugged. "Because we'll need more and I thought perhaps you'd like green."

John felt the colour rise in his cheeks. "Oh," he said and smiled. "That's really kind of you," he said. "Considerate."

"I know you like green," said Sherlock. "I'd started to place an order but you took it away from me on some whim."

"Sorry," said John and shook his head. "Look, we can always look for some and...and, Sherlock this is all sounding quite domestic. Are you planning for us to always share your room?"

"Mine's better," said Sherlock. "And more convenient."

"Right," said John and grinned. "Fine."

"Actually fine or-"

"Go and shower," said John and sat down as Sherlock flounced out. He flipped open his laptop and found the page Sherlock had been looking at. All the details were clear and quite expensive, but John was feeling indulgent and completed the payment before he put everything away and tossed the towel into the hamper. John sat down on the sofa, feeling both naked and a little vulnerable while Sherlock was out of the room and he couldn't help grabbing a cushion to put in front of his crotch.

Sherlock scrubbed the towel over his hair and raised an eyebrow at John's choice of cover-up. "The flag's the wrong way up," he said. "Who did you think would walk out of the door?"

"You," said John and didn't remove the cushion. "I've ordered the green."

Sherlock grinned. "So we are sharing?"

"Yeah," said John and beckoned. "You've heard of christening a place, haven't you?"

Sherlock licked his bottom lip and dropped the towel to the floor. He walked over and knelt on the sofa, knees either side of John's own, cushion the only barrier to naked flesh pressed to naked flesh. Sherlock leaned in, hand on John's jaw as he kissed him and sucked on John's bottom lip. John settled his hands on Sherlock's hip and let his thumb stroke down against the man's skin as he kissed back. The smell was still present in the flat but John embraced it and sucked at Sherlock's tongue when he offered it. He drew back only when he felt Sherlock's fingers reaching for the cushion.

"I take it you do," he said and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"What I lack is experience," said Sherlock. "Not knowledge."

"Right," said John and tugged the cushion away, dropping it off the sofa so that he could feel the heat of Sherlock's skin against his own. Sherlock's fingers slid over John's belly and John caught his breath when they wrapped round the heavy length of his dick. He was already hard from watching his best friend's eager walk and the blood throbbed hard in Sherlock's hand. Sherlock moved, fingers sliding up and over the head and John knew he was at risk of coming with a few good hard strokes.

John leaned back on the sofa so that Sherlock was above him and he grinned as Sherlock never lost his grip on John's erection. He licked his bottom lip and reached down between them to Sherlock's dick, wrapping his hand round and bringing him closer. John groaned as he felt Sherlock's long, graceful fingers join his and was grateful that his flatmate was a fast learner. Sherlock rocked toward him and his chest was pressed to John's own, still wet from his shower and as John squeezed and rolled, the sofa grew damp beneath their still wet bodies.

They rocked together, a tangle of limbs and damp skin as Sherlock gripped the edge of the sofa cushion and John gripped Sherlock. The groans that slipped from John's mouth between kisses seemed to make Sherlock move harder, faster and John arched his back as he came. The slickness spilled over their hands and John dropped his head to the sofa, his hand never losing the pace as he watched Sherlock work toward the orgasm neither one of them doubted would come. John had seen Sherlock come before but he loved the look of vulnerability and outright pleasure that stretched over those fine features.

He squeezed harder, his hand moving faster until Sherlock came hard, slick liquid spurting against his belly and fingertips. Sherlock cried out, always John's name and he dropped forward, a sprawl of alabaster skin over John's own. He panted, lips open against John's neck and the good doctor licked his lip and closed his eyes. He wrapped his arms round Sherlock, wanting to hold on to the feeling of being everything to a man who held the world in his head. 

John Watson, kicked out of the army for doing the right thing, had always paid for his decisions. He paid for making the choice to stay and help the man who died. He paid for returning home, a shell of the man who'd left and he paid for accepting Sherlock's offer and choosing to live again. John had killed a man for Sherlock, would no doubt do so again and he suspected that there would be pain waiting ahead for them. But they lived, they chose and they moved and they lived together and John kissed Sherlock's cheek and hair, wherever he could reach him as he rested on the sofa.

"Christened," murmured Sherlock and John giggled and held him tighter.

"Just the sofa?" asked John. "Or the whole room?"

"This bit," said Sherlock and drew back so he could look at John. "We can try your chair, but it might stain. I don't think you'd like to explain semen marks to Mrs Hudson."

John giggled and took a risky glance between them. "Yeah, well I think these are over me. I'm going to need another shower."

"It wipes off," said Sherlock and rested his head against John's shoulder. "You're very practical."

"Had to be," said John. "You never knew when you'd have to leave. I still don't."

Sherlock lifted his head. "You don't have to leave."

John grinned and pushed wild curls away from Sherlock's brow. "I meant for a mission. Or a case, like we do now."

"Oh," said Sherlock and cleared his throat before he sat back and looked down at John. "I want you to stay."

"I'm not leaving."

"Ever," said Sherlock. "I don't want you to go."

John grinned at him. "That's the closest thing you've come to saying you want me."

"I _do_ want you," said Sherlock and scrambled off the sofa to grab the towel. He swiped at the pair of them a little too briskly and John took charge to prevent friction burns. Sherlock let him clean them both off and bent down to kiss the scar on John's shoulder. John blinked and looked up at his friend. "I want all of you," said Sherlock. "I don't share well."

John grinned. "Well, there's no-one else trying to share me."

"Good," said Sherlock and drew his fingers over John's scar. "Does this hurt?"

"Sometimes," said John. "Not often. Not enough to bother me."

Sherlock nodded. "Is this the only one?"

"No," said John and grinned as he flashed scar after scar to Sherlock and let the man deduce how he'd acquired each and every one. From bullet wounds to bike rides, Sherlock picked out each one correctly and grinned at John as he looked him over.

"Is that all of them?" asked Sherlock and John shook his head and indicated the tiny scar on his left eyebrow. The white mark was so small it barely showed beneath the hair and Sherlock frowned. "A knife?" he asked and then shook his head. "This one's stretched. You've had it since you were a child."

"I was eleven," said John and smiled as Sherlock's brain sped through the possibilities. "You want to know?"

"Yes," said Sherlock and leaned in closer. His thumb rubbed over John's eyebrow to feel the faint dint of skin. "It's a blade but I don't know what you'd be doing with a blade here when you were so young. An accident, clearly, but it's so clean. You weren't brawling and it's almost a point. You're not ashamed, you're almost proud of it but I don't..." Sherlock shook his head. "A blade, not a knife. But I don't know _how_."

John leaned up and kissed the frown lines. "It was a sword," he said. "Harry and I were playing and a mate of ours had a toy sword and went for Harry. He was being a dick and I stepped in the way to stop her."

"A sword," said Sherlock and shook his head before he looked back down at John. "And you stopped him hurting your sister."

"Yeah, I shouldn't have bothered. Harry could always stand up for herself."

"But you played hero," said Sherlock. "You've always been a hero, John."

"I thought they didn't exist," said John and Sherlock kissed him and tugged him back toward his bedroom.

"That was before I found one of my own," said Sherlock. "And you are amazing at being one."

John thoroughly enjoyed Sherlock's appreciation and let the man show it in the room he had quickly started to think of as theirs. The next day he brought down a few pairs of pants as Sherlock shifted some of his own over and John liked the way red pants and grey socks sat next to black ones. They spent some of the day watching films on the sofa, Sherlock's wriggling round to get comfortable, his legs stretched out across John's lap. John chose the film and listened to Sherlock work his way through the plot of the Usual Suspects. He giggled loudly at the way Sherlock picked the twist far earlier than anyone should have been able to and stroked Sherlock's feet when the man looked so pleased with himself.

Sherlock declared that John's laugh was the best noise he'd heard in years and was immediately pounced on. John pinned Sherlock to the sofa to explain that kissing didn't always need to be a prelude to anything at all. Though Sherlock wasn't entirely swayed, John's lips were swollen and he couldn't quite hide it from Mrs Hudson when she dropped in the following day, ostensibly to bring the newspaper up but partly to remind them to keep the noise down a bit. John apologised and promised they'd be more considerate, just as Sherlock suggested that Mrs Hudson spend more of her time out of the flat.

To her credit, Mrs Hudson didn't do more than fumble her tea cup and John knew that flowers would have to be delivered to make her feel better about it. He saw her out and was determined to tell Sherlock off, except when he went back to the bedroom, Sherlock had stripped bare and attacked him as he walked through the door. John's telling off dropped from his lips and he was very glad later that Mrs Hudson _did_ go somewhere that afternoon.

By Thursday Sherlock had decided that John's bottom was worthy of accolades and spent a good part of the day doodling on it with his fingertips. John didn't mind in the slightest and stretched out over the bed, dozing on and off until he felt the pinch of Sherlock's fountain pen on his skin. His objections were quieted when Sherlock said he'd considered tattooing his name on John's bottom but decided that he preferred it as it was, so long as John didn't mind Sherlock writing it on every once in a while.

John felt slightly differently on Friday when Sherlock declared he'd like to do the same thing to John's penis and all fountain pens were put away in a drawer. John elicited a promise that there would be no doodling on his dick and spent a great deal of time licking his way over Sherlock's chest instead. He enjoyed testing how much teasing the great detective could stand before they fell over one another in an effort to make the other one come. John encouraged the art of mutual oral pleasure and only stopped when Sherlock declared it to be interesting but not ideal. Sherlock rolled John to his back and spent time demonstrating that he could knock John breathless and not just with his intellect.

They watched crap telly into the night and Sherlock paused before midnight to inform John that his penis was more than adequate. John protested that adequate was still not a compliment, no matter that it was apparently more than. Sherlock pressed his mouth to John's ear and insisted that it was a fine penis, a wonderful penis and that it was by far Sherlock's favourite penis. John caught the giggles again and into the morning of the last day of their dare, Sherlock was poised to win.

Somewhere near lunchtime, Sherlock elected to play the violin for John, a composition that he'd enjoyed before and found to be improved by Sherlock playing it naked. John lounged in bed and flicked over the pages of the newspaper to find that nothing was more interesting than the man he'd dared to pay compliments to people for a month. So far, Sherlock had succeeded, even if most of them had been directed toward John himself.

"So," he said as Sherlock finished and settled violin and bow back in their case. "I take it you have some plan  to finish today on a high?"

"They've all been pretty high so far," said Sherlock and walked back over to the bed. "You haven't complained."

"Haven't really seen a need," said John and grinned as Sherlock leaned in and kissed him. "If I'd know we'd end up here..."

"You'd have done this a long time ago," said Sherlock. "Although really, you could just have asked."

"Really?"

"I have been leaving you signs," said Sherlock.

"Well, you know us soldiers," said John. "We prefer not to decipher code."

"What code, exactly?" asked Sherlock. "I've kept you close, told you I couldn't do without you and I even know how you take your tea. What else do you need?"

"Knowing how I take my tea doesn't automatically translate into, 'shag me over the kitchen table'," said John evenly as Sherlock crawled up the bed.

"Doesn't it?"

"No," said John. "I've made you tea since day one."

"And you've been thinking about me and that table since then." Sherlock grinned when John chuckled. "Deny it."

"I thought about it, yeah," said John and slid his hand to Sherlock's hip to squeeze. "You warned me off."

"I told you I was flattered."

"Yeah, but I can tell a brush off when I get one," said John and Sherlock smiled and leaned down to kiss him. John closed his eyes and felt Sherlock's fingers slide over his chest, tickling at his nipple until his balls drew tight and his dick throbbed. "I can tell when it isn't as well. _That_ wasn't a brush off."

"No," said Sherlock and wriggled until his legs tangled with John's own. "I've always admired your heart, John."

"Now come on," said John. "I know you've got to find something for today, but you don't have much truck with sentiment."

"I said it was dangerous."

"Yes."

"And destructive," said Sherlock. "And I mean it. It really is both but then your heart, John, it leads your head and it's not always wrong."

"Thanks, I think."

Sherlock shook his head. "You don't always think. You act."

"What, like shooting a murderer before you can take a pill."

"Like everything you do," said Sherlock. "Like kissing me back to prove you're good at it."

"Well, I am."

"And coming down to ask me whether you're the first man in my bed," said Sherlock. "You could have stepped back. You could have backed away but you didn't, because your heart told you to."

"You're right, it is dangerous," said John and leaned up to suck on Sherlock's bottom lip. "So this is your final compliment, is it? Before you're released back into the community where you don't have to be nice to anyone. My heart."

"Your heart," said Sherlock and traced his fingertips over it. "Your heart is admirable, John."

"Yours isn't so bad either," said John and covered Sherlock's hand with his own. "You can still be pleasant to people tomorrow, you know. They wouldn't mind."

"My terms," said Sherlock. "You'll allow me my prize."

"Yes," said John and sighed. "You've done it. Sherlock wins again."

"I don't want a roast dinner," said Sherlock and kissed the corner of John's mouth. "I'll tell you what I want tomorrow."

"Fine," said John and stroked Sherlock's back as he tensed. "No, I mean _really_ fine. Whatever you want."

"Anything?"

"Absolutely," said John and blinked as Sherlock kissed him hard and then slipped free. He headed off the bed and grabbed hold of his pajamas. "Hang on, where are you going?"

"Plans, John," said Sherlock and winked at him. "Get some sleep."

"Why?"

"Because I'm going to be busy," said Sherlock and pulled on his dressing gown. "And you've said yes to everything in advance."

He flounced out of the room, leaving John to flop back on the bed and stare at the ceiling. He could hear Sherlock clattering round and chose to stay put. "I've made a monster out of good manners," he murmured. "I'm going to pay for this. He's going to want a dead body, I'm sure."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has won the bet and been nice to people for the twenty eight days in February. John has agreed that Sherlock claim anything as his prize.
> 
> Giving free rein to the man is very, very dangerous.
> 
> Smut. Fluff. Tiny bit of plot and some outrageous demands.

John expected Sherlock to wake him on the first day of March demanding his prize before the morning began. However, he woke, John's feet tangled in the sheets and Sherlock's limbs tangled round him and even the sleepy kiss to the back of his neck didn't feel like a demand. A suggestion, clearly, but not a demand and he agreed to lazy wakeup call, a long, slow rub of Sherlock's body up against his own, erection brushing against the backs of John's thighs. John liked it even better when Sherlock slid his hand round to roll the head of John's dick between his fingers and they moved in time, rocking against each other until John came hard and Sherlock spilled against his back.

Sherlock's mouth was muffled against the back of John's shoulder when he relaxed and only when John moved to get a towel did he murmur any kind of objection. "Sherlock," said John as he was pinned to the bed. "Let's get cleaned up."

"In a minute. Comfortable," murmured Sherlock and John sighed.

"Much as I like morning sex," said John. "I'm sticky and _not_ comfortable and I might fall out of bed if I don't untangle my feet."

Sherlock sighed and lifted his head. "But I _won_ ," he said and when John let out a grumble he reached down and drew the covers away from John's feet. "You said you'd let me make my own terms."

"I will," said John. "But they don't include come drying on my back." He slipped free of the bed and frowned as he looked back at Sherlock. "They don't, do they?"

"I can think of better things," said Sherlock and stretched as he stood up. "I've thought of better things."

"Oh yeah?" asked John and reached for the bathroom door. "You joining me?"

Sherlock nodded and padded into the bathroom behind John. He watched as John adjusted the temperature on the spray and climbed in beside him. There was scarcely any room with both of them in the cubicle, but they managed to find soap and shampoo to wash down. John very much liked the way Sherlock dropped kisses on his skin whenever he brushed against him and offered several of his own. He kissed Sherlock's upper arm when the man washed John's hair, his jaw as Sherlock cleaned himself down and bent to press kisses against Sherlock's inner thigh when he couldn't resist.

"That's on the list," said Sherlock and John glanced up.

"List?" he asked. "You've come up with a list?"

"I had to do things your way for twenty-eight days," said Sherlock. "Every day I did things your way."

"I don't think my way included you being a dick sometimes when you did it," said John. "Besides, it was a dare. You didn't have to say yes,"

"Of course I had to say yes," said Sherlock. "I always rise to the challenge. You know that."

"Yeah, okay, I do," said John and got to his feet. He reached out for the towel and tossed one back to Sherlock. "I thought you were going to demand I let you turn this whole place into a lab for a month."

"How unambitious," said Sherlock and dried himself off as he watched John. "I've compiled a list of things I want that you will do for me, or give me, and we'll consider this restitution for having to be pleasant to people."

John wrapped the towel round his hips and looked back at Sherlock. "I'm going to regret making this bet, aren't I?"

"Oh calm down, some of the consequences were quite good," said Sherlock. "It isn't punishment, John. It's what I want from you."

"And if I don't want to do any of the things on your list?"

"Then we will discuss it and I will explain my reasoning," said Sherlock. "Relax, you'll do fine."

"Yeah," said John uncertainly and then chuckled. "Okay then, let's see this list."

"I've memorised it," said Sherlock and gestured. "I do want to have sex in the shower with you."

"That's going to happen," said John. "Twenty-eight things all today?"

"Let's see how we get on," said Sherlock and reached for his phone. He selected a contact and handed the phone to John. "Say hello, John."

John took the phone and gave a cautious greeting before he recognised the drawling tone of Sebastian Wilkes. "Yeah," said John as Sebastian called Sherlock's name. "No, it's not him, it's John Watson. Yes, that's right, the one who took the cheque. Sherlock's..." John paused, glanced at Sherlock and smiled. "Sherlock's friend. Yes, really. I just thought I'd straighten that out. Because I wasn't clear last time. I'm his best friend." He hung up as Sebastian started to ask why he'd called and handed the phone back. "Better?"

Sherlock shrugged. "I like things to be in order," he said. "Although you could have said partner."

"Didn't seem to have the right ring to it," said John. "I didn't know if you were ready for boyfriend. So that's one off the list?"

Sherlock nodded and walked out of the bathroom. "Get some clothes on. We've got a lot to do."

"I'd rather hoped it would be a clothes off sort of list," said John and huffed before he headed out to do exactly that. He dressed carefully, clothes neat and tidy and his shoes chosen so that he could run, should he need to. He glanced in the mirror and shaved the light stubble on his jaw before he faced up to whatever Sherlock's demands were. He was a little surprised to find a clarinet on the table and frowned when Sherlock handed him a music book.

"I didn't know what you prefer," said Sherlock. "Contemporary or classical but frankly I'll settle for Twinkle, twinkle, little star."

John reached out for the instrument and looked back at Sherlock. "You're kidding me."

"I just want to hear you play," said Sherlock. "You said you'd promised to play for Sarah."

"Yeah, but I didn't mean the clarinet," said John and frowned. "It was a joke. I haven't played since school. Honestly. I don't know if I can."

"So play now."

John huffed and took hold of the clarinet as he tried to work through what else might be on the list. There could be anything, everything and he couldn't quite picture himself saying no to Sherlock when it was a bet. John might have had a small gambling problem at one point and had never really been good at hanging on to any money he won, but he never failed to pay his debts. He played the tune from memory and though it made slightly squeaky sounds on some of the notes and he was sweating by the end, John put the clarinet back down on the table and looked back at Sherlock. "Done."

"So it was," he said. "Let's never speak of this again."

"That bad?"

"Moving on," said Sherlock and looked at John carefully. "The latest entry on your blog."

"Yes?" asked John. "What about it?"

"We'll rewrite it. You type and I'll dictate. At least one of your entries should be factual."

"Lovely," said John and cleared his throat. "Go on."

"We can do that later, though," said Sherlock and John folded his arms as he watched him. "You could make breakfast."

"I _always_ make breakfast," said John. "Okay, yeah, I'll do that. What else?"

"You'll never make me watch another James Bond film. Not even the new ones."

"What?" asked John and then shrugged. "Fine."

"You'll not say 'fine' if it isn't," said Sherlock.

"Is that on the list?"

"Yes."

John rolled his eyes. " _Fine_ , I'm just wary, that's all. It's a bloody long list and I'm not a performing monkey."

"Not at all." Sherlock stepped forward and leaned in to kiss John. "Kiss me in public?"

John arched an eyebrow. "In public?" he asked. "How public?"

"Well, not on stage," said Sherlock. "Surprise me."

"That'll be good," said John. "There we'll be at some crime scene and you and I'll be snogging over a corpse."

"I've allowed for some discretion," said Sherlock and stroked a hand down over the shirt John was wearing. "And can I have one of your jumpers?"

"It won't fit you."

"Not to wear," said Sherlock. "I wouldn't be caught dead in one. No, I want one you've worn to put in my drawer."

John frowned. "Are you planning to hold my jumper hostage?"

"You'll know where it is," said Sherlock. "And periodically I'll want you to put it back on so I can smell it."

"That's..." John cleared his throat and grinned. "That's pretty affectionate, Sherlock. Yeah, I can do that."

"Good," said Sherlock. "And you'll marry me."

"Hmm?"

"I don't have a preference on where, but I do think it would be better if we formalise our arrangements, especially considering our lifestyle."

"Yes, I thought that's what you said," said John and straightened up. "That was a proposal, was it?"

Sherlock frowned as he clearly ran over his words. "I was quite clear," he said. "Do you need an explanation?"

"I didn't know if you were ready for me to say boyfriend," said John. "And you've got us promising to love, honour and protect."

"I thought it was obey," said Sherlock and shook his head. "Are you turning me down?"

"No," said John. "I'm saying give me a minute. It's not quite on the same level as making you breakfast."

"Well you will still do that, won't you?" asked Sherlock. "I like your breakfasts."

"Breakfast is fine," said John and huffed out a breath. "Okay, leave that one for a moment and let's move on to the next."

"But the next is that I get to choose where we go on honeymoon," said Sherlock. "I thought we could try Brussels. Antwerp is an acceptable alternative, but only if we have to."

"Stop," said John. "I really need to read this. Have you written any of it down?"

"Well, some," said Sherlock. "I got started on the paperwork and found your birth certificate yesterday. You can hardly get married without pulling some strings."

"Stop pulling things," said John. "You don't know where they'll unravel."

"I don't see that there'll be a problem," said Sherlock. "And I didn't mean we'll get married today, I just want you to say yes and we'll arrange it."

"Moving on," said John. "Pick something else."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You won't complain about getting the shopping in for at least one month."

John cleared his throat. "Okay."

"You won't complain about doing the laundry for two months."

"Keep going."

"You'll lend me your gun whenever I want."

"No. You steal it anyway."

"I put it to good use."

"The wall is _not_ good use. What else?"

"You'll let me do the crossword in the newspaper for a week without attempting it yourself. It's tiresome to find black lines where you've scribbled the wrong word out."

"Okay," said John. "That one I can do."

Sherlock nodded. "And you'll let me experiment in the kitchen next week and won't clutter it up with food."

John stared at him. "No food in the kitchen?"

"Yes."

"Where the food's supposed to be."

It's a perfectly serviceable table for my experiments," said Sherlock. "We can do take-away instead."

"This is a long list."

"It's only twenty eight lines," said Sherlock. "You said-"

"Yes, yes I _know_ I did," said John. "But I was clearly mad, giving you free rein." He cleared his throat. "Are you sure you didn't just write, 'John becomes my slave for a few months'?"

Sherlock stared at him evenly. "I hardly think asking you not to complain is slavery, John."

"No, just means I'm your bitch," said John and huffs. "What else?"

Sherlock shook his head. "I'll talk to you when you're in a better mood."

"I'm just worried, that's all," said John. "You've got to admit that's a lot of things and you threw marriage in there too."

"Oh we're back to that," said Sherlock. "You said to leave it 'till later and you keep bringing it up."

"Yes, because it's a big thing," said John. "It's not something that should sit on a list next to getting the shopping in."

"I don't see why not," said Sherlock. "You're the person I intend to spend my life with. You'll be the one getting the shopping. Why shouldn't you be the person I'm married to?"

"Because there's stages, Sherlock," said John. "Steps you're supposed to take."

"Steps?"

"Like dating."

"We've been on dates."

"Crime scenes are not dates!"

"Dinner is," said Sherlock. "We've _done_ dinner."

"Yes, and at those I was definitely not your date," said John. "Mostly."

Sherlock stepped closer and settled his arms round John, his fingers sliding under John's belt. "John, you already know you're the most important person in my life other than myself. I wanted to make a gesture."

"Right," said John and took a quick breath. "That's a pretty big gesture."

"Still no?"

"Still thinking," said John. "What else is on the list?"

"Move into my room permanently," said Sherlock. "I've cleaned out half the wardrobe and assigned you another drawer."

John raised his eyebrows but he nodded as he contemplated Sherlock spending time making room in his life for John. "Yeah, I'd like that."

"And at least once a week we'll sit on the sofa together and you'll let me sleep with my head on your lap. You deliver an excellent head massage and I find it soothing."

John grinned. "Fine, I'll pamper you."

"Good," said Sherlock and reached for John's hand to bring him through to the kitchen. John looked round, expecting to see Sherlock's kit, but there were only breakfast foods available and the kitchen table was very clean.

"Breakfast, then?"

"Not yet," said Sherlock and licked over his bottom lip. "It's the next thing on my list."

"Not breakfast?"

"I want you to fuck me over the table."

"Oh," said John and ran a hand back through his hair. "God, yes, let's do that."

"Thank God," said Sherlock as John had stepped up, hand down to unfasten Sherlock's belt and pressed a punishing kiss to his lips. Sherlock sighed and licked over John's bottom lip, practically catlike while John worked open his trousers and pushed them down. John pushed Sherlock's pants down roughly and slid his tongue over Sherlock's lip and tasted the man. John was relieved to have something he could do in the moment, that didn't mean thinking too deeply and he breathed out hard as Sherlock's fingers brushed against his jeans.

"Oh no, you don't," said John as he moved fast and turned Sherlock round. He reached for Sherlock's dick and stroked his fingers along the length, sliding up and over the man's erection as Sherlock spread his hands out over the table. John unfastened his jeans and groaned as Sherlock pushed back against him, wriggling and eager and far too much temptation. John's erection strained his pants and he shoved them down, realising only then that he hadn't brought anything slippery with him. "Sherlock," he groaned. "I need-"

"Do it," growled Sherlock and John spat in his hand, his fingers slick and slippery as he slid his hand between Sherlock's cheeks. He stroked quickly, fingers barely sliding in as Sherlock pushed back and John couldn't wait. He didn't want to wait and grasped his dick in hand before he pushed forward. Sherlock gasped, hips bucking back from the table as John slid forward. John could feel his dick slide deeper, and despite the newness of the situation, he couldn't seem to make himself slow down. He squeezed at Sherlock's dick as he felt it soften slightly and moved deliberately to cover one of Sherlock's where it rested on the table.

"God, that's good," groaned John and breathed out hard as he sank deeper. "Sherlock?"

"It's good," said Sherlock and John heard the catch in his breath. "Just...give me a moment."

John nodded and dropped his head down against Sherlock's shoulder as he forced himself to still. His fingers worked slowly but steadily over the length of Sherlock's dick and he could feel the way he became more erect in John's hand. John breathed in the salty scent of damp, dark curls against his cheek and he felt Sherlock start to move, clearly impatient with need. John carefully shifted and then bucked forward until he could feel his knuckles brush against the edge of the table.

Sherlock groaned loudly and John worked the pace, building it up as he locked his fingers alongside Sherlock's own. He rolled his hips, sliding back and then in hard enough to bruise his knuckles where he held Sherlock close. He could feel the slick skin beneath his palm as John moved harder and found the place where he undid the detective completely. John's hand was slick as Sherlock came and the sound of his name on the man's lips reverberated round the kitchen until John couldn't stand it. He bucked hard enough to crush the pair of them to the table and spilled, slick and warm inside his lover.

John couldn't breathe for a second and rested his cheek against the damp cotton of Sherlock's shirt. He could feel Sherlock's heart beat, the flutter that slowed as they recovered and John eased back slowly, tugging his shirt off to wipe them clean. He kissed Sherlock's shoulder and dropped the shirt in the bathroom hamper before he walked back through. Sherlock fastened his belt again as John leaned in and kissed the smug grin on his face. "That was amazing," said John and Sherlock nodded.

"Definitely something worth repeating," said Sherlock. "Do I have to put it back on the list?"

John giggled and shook his head. "Look, we can do anything we want. I'll do all those things you said. You don't have to make a list to get me to spend time with you."

"But I've made it," said Sherlock and when John held his hand out, he pulled the folded paper from his pocket. "You did say-"

"I did," said John and reached for Sherlock's hand to lead him back to the front room. He sat down on the sofa and let Sherlock sprawl over him, mentally ticking off another of his lover's demands. "Let's have a look at this, then."

John looked over the paper carefully, noting where things had been underlined and a few places where even Sherlock had crossed things out. Given the things Sherlock had already requested, he was surprised that there was anything he considered to be off the agenda. He tutted over the request for John to be rude to Mycroft, something he thought he'd already done a few times. The request for John to model red pants was fine but he was sure he'd done that as well, if accidentally. He had no problem putting his uniform on if Sherlock really wanted him to, but preferred the underlined demand for John to take Sherlock to bed and fuck him hard enough to rattle the headboard.

"You really want to write, 'property of Sherlock Holmes' on my bum?" asked John. "No-one's going to see it."

"I will," said Sherlock and tilted his head back to look up at John. "Will you let me?"

"Yes," said John. "And I promise I'll stay with you. You didn't need to put that on a list either."

"I thought I'd ask while you have to say yes," said Sherlock. "Same with that one too," he said and pointed.

"I thought you weren't interested in the stars."

"I'm not," said Sherlock. "But I like it when you talk about them. You make it sound like it could actually be interesting."

John chuckled. "And this one? I thought you could get your own access to that file?"

"Jack the Ripper," said Sherlock. "I have several theories but I need to get my hands on the file they've buried."

"You conspiracist," grinned John. "Okay, I'll find it for you if I can. And this thing about the phone? I always keep my phone on me. You should know. You text me constantly."

"Oh that," said Sherlock and leaned over to pick up the box from the table. He passed it to John. "I thought you were due an upgrade."

John raised his eyebrows as he opened the box. The model was new and it looked in good condition and was clearly fully charged. He flicked it on and Sherlock reached to take it out of his hands. "You see, I've put all your contacts on there. Remarkable how many people you know."

John glanced at it and chuckled. "Strange how few women seem to have made the transfer."

"Well you didn't need their numbers," said Sherlock. "And I've installed the apps you'll require."

"Ah," said John and leaned down to kiss the man, lingering against his mouth when Sherlock grinned at him. "Thank you, Sherlock. I love it."

"Of course you do," said Sherlock. "It is inscribed, since you seem to like that."

John nodded and turned the phone over to look at the back. He giggled at Sherlock's idea of affection and kissed him again. "John, don't lose this. Sherlock. Nice."

"It is," said Sherlock. "You should take care of it."

"Oh I will," said John and set it back on the table as he kissed Sherlock again. "Your list isn't so bad."

"All of it?"

"Well, aside from the gun, it's all pretty much doable."

Sherlock cleared his throat. " _All_ of it, John?"

"I think you're supposed to say something first," said John. "Before you ask someone to do that."

Sherlock huffed and sat up on the sofa to look at John. "You know I do. Please say this is one thing you do observe, John."

John licked over his bottom lip and leaned over, his hand settled against Sherlock's jaw as he leaned in to kiss him. "I see it," he said and grinned at the breath Sherlock let out. "Of course I love you, idiot. Always have."

"We've only been together a short while."

"Love and sex, Sherlock. They're different, you know that. And yes, since day one. Since you winked at me."

Sherlock stared at him and then kissed John hard enough to bruise his bottom lip. "All right then," he said. "So?"

"Oh," said John. "The big question?"

"Obviously."

"And you're sure you want that answer now?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and kissed John. "I love you. There, I've said it and I deserve an answer."

John sighed and put the paper back on the table. "I'm sorry, Sherlock. I'll do anything for you but I absolutely _refuse_ to play Cluedo again." He grinned. "Now about item one..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that is all she wrote! Thank you so much for all the kind thoughts, all the lovely words and for liking and letting me know that you did.
> 
> I did look at where else this could have ended but it always seemed to insist that this was where it should be.
> 
> Thank you all. Hope you enjoyed it. x

**Author's Note:**

> As always, any notes, comments, compliments or criticisms are welcome. I'm on with the next bit now - I love the temptation of these pretty men!


End file.
